


The Woods Stand Dark and Still

by HooperMolly



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:58:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2632709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HooperMolly/pseuds/HooperMolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What would he be thinking? That maybe this was it? That this was the time that Oswald didn’t let go?"</p>
<p>They probably shouldn't be playing these kind of games, where Oswald takes Jim's breath and Jim lets him. But if they were really that concerned about what they should and shouldn't be doing, they wouldn't still be in Gotham. (aka a Jim/Oswald breathplay fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woods Stand Dark and Still

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and posted after 4am. Whoops.

If you’d told Oswald all those weeks ago that this would be happening, right now, with Jim Gordon, he’d have laughed hysterically. Yet here he was, standing at the foot of the bed with Jim stretched out in front of him, ready and waiting and completely at his mercy. He would never hurt Jim, but the power play was intoxicating. He could hurt Jim, if he so desired. There was nothing stopping him in these moments, Jim’s wrists held securely above his head stripping him of everything with which he could defend himself but his words. Not that Jim was a talker. 

No. In all the time they’d been doing this Jim had barely said a word during. Hell, it had been hard getting him to talk before, when Oswald was trying to work out the boundaries, although eventually Oswald had coaxed a framework out of him. No whips, paddles, crops, or any other such apparatus, no biting, no blindfolds, and Jim got to keep his pants on. All rules that Oswald had no trouble obeying. Oh, and also nobody touched anybody’s dick. That one was harder, no pun intended. Oswald wasn’t so concerned about himself but he really, really wanted to touch Jim. It was almost embarrassing, how deep that particular desire ran. 

Jim shifted, rattling the handcuffs slightly as he did. He was growing impatient waiting for Oswald to move but he would never give a voice to his frustrations, just lie there and wait for the next part of the game to begin. Oswald took a step forward so that he was hard up against the edge of the bed and reached out a hand, running it up Jim’s clothed thigh. He shivered as Oswald’s hand kept going, draggingly slowly over the lean, firm muscles of his torso. Oswald paused for a few seconds, feeling the rise and fall of Jim’s chest before springing into action, jumping onto the bed and bringing his hand up to Jim’s neck in one fluid motion. Jim tensed but Oswald didn’t apply any pressure. It was a promise of what’s to come, meant more to make sure that he had Jim’s attention than anything else. He had his attention. Jim’s eyes were fixed on his, a deep blue dare to go further, harder. 

Oswald squeezed gently, just enough that Jim would feel it. He could take it further, push down into the carotid artery until Jim’s eyes fluttered shut and the darkness closed in around him. He would never. Never. But he could. He relaxed his grip, leaving his hand loosely grasping Jim’s throat. Would Jim struggle if he did start crushing hard on his windpipe? Would he fight against the bonds that he had willingly been restrained in, thrashing in vein as consciousness slipped away from him? Oswald shouldn’t be thinking about it, not when Jim was so kind and good as to entrust him with his body like this. 

They’ve done this a half dozen times now, this game where Oswald got to feel strong and powerful, and Jim let himself give up control. Every time they pushed a little harder, bared a little more of their soul to the other. Oswald kept up an irregular cycle of tightening and relaxing his grip, never letting himself fall into a rhythm that Jim could predict. 

"Stop screwing around." Oswald jumped slightly at Jim's words. 

"Someone keen tonight!" Oswald replied, smiling. He stilled himself, fingers barely resting on Jim's neck. In part he wanted to reassert his dominance in the situation but he also craved forcing Jim to beg. Oswald could wait. He had the patience of a saint, truly he did. The seconds crawled by as Oswald sat there, grinning down and watching every little twitch on Jim's face. 

"Is there something you need, Mr Gordon?" Jim's lip curled up into a snarl and good god was it beautiful. He was like a caged lion, proud and strong but ultimately helpless against the trappings that held him. All he had to was ask nicely and he could have what he wanted. Oswald would never deny Jim. He felt it deep in his bones, this overwhelming need to please. Gotham might have rejected him repeatedly but not Jim. Not even after all the trouble Oswald had caused. Most of it wasn't even intentional, honestly. If it garnered him some added attention from Jim? Well that was just a bonus. Cracks were starting to show in Jim's normally stoic visage. Oswald could practically hear his brain tearing itself apart as desire fought pride, want fought self preservation, ego fought id. 

"Please." How could a single word, so reluctant yet so desperate, bring so much joy? How could Oswald refuse such a request? He moved his hand from Jim’s throat and covered his mouth. He waited until Jim took a breath then pinched his nostrils closed with the other hand. Mentally he started counting to fifteen. Fifteen seconds would be long enough for Jim to just start feeling like he needed to take a breath. He released his grip on Jim’s nose, letting him take in a few good breaths of air before cutting him off again, this time for twenty seconds. 

“Longer?” Oswald asked as he eased off just enough to let Jim inhale, lifting his hand so that Jim could talk if he needed to. 

“Yes.” 30 seconds. He let go just long enough for Jim to take a single breath before pinching for a further 20 seconds. It didn't sound like much when you reduced it to such a quantified unit of time, but when you were the one who couldn't breathe it felt like an eternity. He gave Jim a longer rest period, taking his hands away until Jim's breathing returned to normal. There was a distant look in Jim's eyes that didn't so much worry Oswald as just made him look a little harder for anything else that ought to set off alarm bells. 

"Still with me, Jim?" There was a brief pause before Jim nodded slowly. 

"Are you ready?" Another deliberate nod. 45 seconds this time. It was getting serious now, the boundaries starting to be pushed properly and Oswald was having to give Jim longer and longer to recover. 

“I can do the minute.” Jim said as he gulped in air. 

“Are you sure?” Oswald was hesitant. They were moving faster tonight than they had before and he couldn’t shake the niggling concern at the back of his mind. 

“Positive.” Jim insisted. Oswald took a deep breath as Jim did, instinctively holding it as he smothered him with his hands. He made it just past the 30 second mark before he stopped trying to push through it, letting himself breath easily as he continued to count the seconds. By the time he reached 50 seconds he knew Jim’s chest would be burning, the need to breath pushing all other thoughts from his mind. 60. He pulled back, content to watch as Jim’s body desperately inhaled the oxygen it needed. Idly he stroked Jim’s abdomen, fingertips ghosting across taut skin. He half expected Jim to protest or try to pull away but he didn’t. 

“Was that okay?” Oswald asked, and Jim honest-to-god laughed. 

“Yeah.” He replied with a grin, and if that wasn’t just fucking everything. 

“Do you want to go again?” Jim shook his head. 

“I want more.” He murmured, before promptly biting his lip when he realised those words hadn’t been said inside his head. They’d never done more. More could be a lot of things. 

“What’s more?” Jim didn’t respond, so Oswald leaned down and repeated the question by murmuring it into his ear. 

“What’s more, Jim?” 

“I...pin me. To the bed. So I can’t move.” Oh. So that’s what more was. Well it would be cruel not to oblige a man his request. Oswald climbed on top of Jim so that he was straddling his waist. He wanted to be on Jim’s chest, he really did, but that was stepping into a dangerous territory where he risked unintentionally causing injury. There would be nowhere for Jim to go and Oswald would be pressing down on him. If the situation was reversed, Oswald would be feeling claustrophobic. 

“Are you-” He started to ask but Jim interrupted him. 

“Do it.” Now that low growl brought back memories. Mostly of being shoved into a wall, but memories nevertheless. 

Deliberately he rested his hand over Jim’s mouth, leaning down close enough to feel the heat from his body and waited for him to take a deep breath. Then he clamped the other down over Jim’s nostrils and began to count. It was harder this time, as he was forced to try and support himself with his legs and core muscles unless he wanted to crush Jim’s face. Seconds passed. Seconds that had seemed like so much only a few minutes ago were now comparatively short. He knew Jim would be counting, expecting another minute. 

Oswald reached 60 seconds but kept his grip firm. 61 seconds. At this point Jim could have miscounted. 62 seconds. There was a tiny twitch, the hint of a shiver travelling through Jim’s body that rattled the cuffs ever so slightly. 63 seconds. 64 seconds. 65 seconds. A spark of panic flashed across Jim’s eyes. It sent a thrill through Oswald’s body, a tingling wave that spread from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes. It was a dangerous game that Jim was playing, trusting Oswald with this when he couldn’t even broach the subject with Barbara. 66 seconds. What would he be thinking? That maybe this was it? That this was the time that Oswald didn’t let go? 

At 67 seconds Oswald finally allowed Jim to breathe, admiring the way his whole torso moved as he sucked air into his lungs as fast his body let him. “Mercy.” Jim choked out weakly between breathes. In an instant Oswald had rolled off him and reached out for the key to the handcuffs. The thoughts he’d had shook him almost as much as Jim needing to tap out did. His fingers trembled as pressed the key into the lock and twisted. As soon as his hands were free Jim shot up, sitting bolt upright on the bed. His eyes were glazed over and he couldn’t seem to fixate on one thing as he struggled to catch his breath. 

“Are you with me?” There was a long pause before Jim brought his gaze up to meet Oswald’s. 

“I...yeah.” The way Jim was looking at him but not seeing him - it was fucking terrifying. 

“I didn’t mean to push you so far.” Should he reach out and take Jim’s hand? Christ, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. They’d never found a point where they had to use the safeword before and now that they had Oswald didn’t have a fucking clue what he was supposed to do. Fuck. Fucking fuck. 

“Can you get me my shirt? And a glass of water?” Oswald grabbed at the scraps of guidance being thrown at him and leaped into action, fetching the requested items as fast as he could manage. Fully clothed and rehydrated, Jim seemed to come back to himself a little. 

“That was intense.” He murmured. Oswald nodded. 

“Most definitely.” He agreed. Seconds ticked past and an awkward silence settled over them. Oswald couldn’t miss the way that Jim kept glancing over at him. 

"Is there something you need?" He didn’t get it. When they were in the middle of whatever this was, Jim had no trouble making eye contact. Quite the opposite. But as soon as it ended and they were just James Gordon and Oswald Cobblepot again, it became the most difficult thing in the world. 

“I’ve...I’ve never been good at asking for what I want.” Well hold the presses, they’d want to print that revelation. Five minutes with Jim and it was obvious that you were with a man who hadn’t spent a day putting himself first. He was a self sacrificial idiot and that was a large part of his allure. 

“I’ve noticed.” Oswald replied, smiling. “That’s what I’m here for. That’s why we’re doing this.” 

Suddenly, and without a word, Jim flopped down sideways, resting his head on Oswald’s thigh. Oswald froze for a few moments out of sheer surprise. Then, tentatively, he ran a hand through Jim’s hair. Soft, short strands glided beneath his fingers. Slowly, Jim relaxed. Whatever tension was leftover from their play seemed to dissolve from his body and Oswald realised that this was what he’d really been craving. 

Jim Gordon carried the weight of the innocent of Gotham on his shoulders. He was on the frontline of the war and every casualty brought with it another layer of guilt. Guilt that he couldn’t share with Barbara no matter how often she asked, because she was an innocent. There was nothing he had to shield Oswald from. They fought on the frontline together, side by side or against each other, it didn’t matter. Oswald knew what it was like on the streets, knew the realities of Jim’s work, his life. Out there if Jim lost control it meant that someone got hurt, or killed. But in here, he could let go and know (hope) that giving up control wouldn’t have any far reaching consequences. Didn’t that say something really fucked up about this city, that this was some kind of therapy for two people who by all rights should have hated each other? 

“Der Mond ist aufgegangen, die goldnen Sternlein prangen, Am Himmel hell und klar.” Oswald started to sing softly. He couldn’t really carry the tune, and he was almost certain that he was mispronouncing some of the words but somehow it didn’t matter. 

“What’s that?” Jim asked. 

“An old German lullaby. My mother used to sing it to me every night before I fell asleep.” Oswald answered. 

“It’s nice.” Jim murmured politely. 

“I’m not doing it justice.”

“Sounds fine to me.” There was no point in arguing, even though Oswald knew it was all wrong. 

He carried on singing, stumbling over a few words as the song went on and he couldn’t recall the exact lyrics, but it didn’t appear to bother Jim. What had changed this time, that Jim was able to relax and let himself be touched after a session? Not that Oswald was complaining. This kind of intimacy is what he’d been aching for, a show of trust on a different level to that they had been experimenting with. He finished the lullaby and started it again, this time translating it into english. 

“The moon has risen, the little golden stars shine, in the heavens so clear and bright. The woods stand dark and still, and out of the meadows rise, a wonderful fog.” His thigh was going numb and he was losing all sensation in the rest of his leg, and he was pretty sure that Jim had actually fallen asleep. But that was okay. This was okay and it was all okay. Oswald soaked it all in, committing as much of it as he could to memory. The weight of Jim’s head on his thigh, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the exact colour grey of his tshirt. He had to treasure moments like this, because outside it was still Gotham, and in Gotham you never knew when the game would change. 

“Us proud children’s men are poor and vain, and do not know much, we spin spirits of the air, and look for many arts, and come further from the goal.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted Oswald choking Jim and somehow it turned into this ????? I don't even know what this is. Some kind of character study thing or something, idk. It didn't even end up being choking because that felt too unsafe (that said this still isn't exactly safe but what do you expect when Oswald is involved) and became some kind of exercise of trust where they just need each other, even if they won't admit it. God, I'm so done with these losers. I can't believe Gotham and this fucking ship happened to me. I'm a fucking mess.


End file.
